The Odd Couple
by Frisky Wallabee
Summary: Series of short stories dealing with pairings outside the norm. Suggestions wanted.
1. Introduction

Odd Couples 

As already stated, this is going to be a series of stories dealing with couples with little to no canon basing. Meaning bizarre pairings like, for example, Swifty/Jack. So yeah, that's what this story deals with.

This default chapter or, intro as the case may be, is because the summaries are cruelly short. I'm opening reviews for suggestions of couples. However, to keep things normal, I'm limiting this to the children characters. Meaning, anyone who is not an adult (obviously). Meaning, a coupling like, say, Oscar/Jack would be fine but a coupling like Mayer/Jack, not fine. It's to keep things from going insane. But yeah, other than that, go hog wild!

The pairings I use are at my discretion. If yours doesn't get picked, sorry. If it does, yay for you. You get thanked at the end of the chapter.

So yeah, enough rambling.


	2. Some Might Argue that it's a U

David tightened the belt around his schoolbooks. Usually, only younger kids needed the belts and leashes to keep their books with them but his mother had insisted that he do it as well. It was completely illogical since he was quite capable of simply carrying his schoolbooks. Still, this rule was set in stone—among other unnecessary rules in the Jacobs household—and he'd just have to live with it. He was lucky that he got to go back to school. After his father's arm healed, the factory had been relenting on giving back his job. However, once they found out that his two songs were involved in the newsboys strike and—to them, even better—that one of them was on of the leaders, they hired him back straightaway. Meaning David got to go back to school. He still wasn't sure if it was a good idea.

David rounded the corner to the World building and sat down in front of the gate, doing what he usually did after school, wait for Jack. Jack often dined with his family and it was a lot easier to wait for him rather than sit at home, wondering if he was even going to come or even use the door or just hop loudly on the fire escape and rattle the windows.

David settled onto the ground and inched a book out of the protective belt. He opened it and looked down at the pages but didn't really absorb the words. His mind kept wandering.

"Hey Davey!" a chipper voice chirped.

David glanced up to see Mush Meyers, dirt-speckled and grinning in front of him, papeless. He had obviously found a good selling spot that day to be back to early.

"Hello, Mush," he greeted him with a warm smile.

He liked Mush. He was genuine and sweet-tempered if a bit naïve.

"What are you reading?" he sat down next to him and peered over his shoulder.

"_Ben-Hur_," David replied although he mentally added that _reading_ was the operative word.

Mush's lips moved as he read some of the words until pausing. "What word is that?"

He pointed at the yellowed page.

"Blood," David answered.

"_That's_ how you spell 'blood'?" Mush asked, baffled. "That's hell of weird. Why does it have two o's?"

"Well…" David paused. Mush made a good point. Why _couldn't_ they just spell words phonetically? And, come to think of it, who were _they_ really? Was 'they' just a farce, a fraud created by the government to keep blood from being spelled with a 'u'?

"David?" Mush asked.

He shook his head, deciding to keep his thoughts private. "I don't know why, Mush. I guess that's just how it is."

Mush nodded. "So what are you doing here? I thought you had school now."

"I do. I'm waiting for Jack," he answered.

"Oh…" he seemed let down, his plump lower lip sliding out into a pout. "I see."

David knit his brow. "What's wrong?"

Mush shrugged. "I guess I kinda saw it coming."

"Saw what coming?"

"You…Jack."

"I don't follow."

He bit his still pouting lip and brought the tips of his index fingers together before moving them from side to side like a swing. David nearly choked on his own oxygen. He thought that he and Jack were…_together_?

"We aren't," he said, feeling disbelieving laughter creeping into his words. "We're just friends."

"Oh!" he brightened. "I just thought that…you know. You guys are so close and…"

David put the book down. "What?"

Then, Mush leaned in and placed a small, delicate kiss right on his lips. He pulled back a little, leaving David blinking repeatedly, wondering what had just happened.

"Hey," he giggled, looking right at him. "I never noticed that your eyes were blue."


	3. No Sleep Till Brooklyn

The night was really still. Like, you could hear all the bugs and stuff. Maybe it was bugs or maybe it was cats or something. But either way, the night was still. There was no wind and it just hung like a wet towel over the entire city. It made Blink restless. He tossed and turned in the bunk, nearly falling off at one point. Racetrack—who slept under him—had already complained about his constant tossing and turning. But it was hard to sleep with his eye patch pressing hotly into his skin and those bug-cats out there, mewling and buzzing freakishly. He needed to get out. Still dressed in his black sleep socks and white longjohns, Blink rose and dropped to the floor. The floorboards creaked under his feet but none of the boys awoke. The only one who came close was Bumlets who grumbled and rolled over but he was a notoriously light sleeper—who hated to be woken up. Go figure.

Trying to imitate the bug-cats, Blink crept out of the bunk and down the creaky stairs, to breathe in fresh night air. Except it wasn't fresh. The sewers were backed up and a heavy, cloying smell filled the air. But at least he was up.

"Well, well," a voice broke through the solid night. "I come lookin' for a cowboy and all's I find is a one-eyed cat."

Blink turned to see Spot Conlon slipping through the dark, not unlike a cat himself, grinning although his tone betrayed nothing jocular.

"Hi Spot," he said, smiling widely with his clownish mouth. "Why'd ya need to see Jack?"

He shrugged. "Some of my boys've gone missing. I wanted to see if any of Jacky boy's have too."

Blink shook his head. "Nope. We're all here. I think. I can only see half of us unless I turn my head."

Spot laughed and smiled which surprised Blink. Spot wasn't a funny guy, at least, not one to laugh at other people's jokes. If on the rare occasion _he_ made a joke, he'd laugh about it himself.

"Yeah," he let his smile fade away. "But I'm worried. You know, where'd they go? They count on me and if some are gone the others might desert."

He spoke wistfully into the night like an old Civil War general whose men had all but died on him. Blink could almost see Spot in the Union uniform, guns blazing. It was nice.

"They trust you," he said, smiling wider. "They'll know that you'll know what to do."

"You know, Kid, that makes a lot sense," Spot declared. "In a weird way."

Blink nodded. "So…um…"

He let his voice trail away, dissipating into the night, not knowing what else to say. Spot looked at him. In the dark, his eyes seemed less intense, less frightening. He looked like a little boy. Blink felt gawky and weird in the presence of Spot's nighttime fragility. Like, one touch and he'd break. In the daytime, Spot was frightening and hot like iron. Unbreakable, unflappable, intimidating. This was much better. They stared at each other for a long time, not saying anything.

"So Blink," Spot said suddenly. "Why are you out here?"

"Couldn't sleep," he answered. "Why are you still here?"

He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. Spot curled his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. Blink swallowed but his mouth was dry and his tongue made a weird clicking sound in the back of his throat. Then he felt his head be jerked violently forward as Spot leaned up and yanked it down so their lips could meet. Blink felt euphoria and fear rip through his body as he slowly worked his arms around Spot's middle. After a few minutes that each felt like blissful eternity, Spot let up.

"Pleasant dreams, Kid," he said with a smirk, turning to go.


	4. Take the Long Way Home

Skittery popped his knuckles, finding himself with nothing else to do. He was tired, he was cranky, he was sore in every muscle. He hated this job. He hated coming up and down those same creaky stairs every day to go to sleep and do the same thing over and over again until he died. Or hit adulthood. Whichever came first. So he decided that coming with Racetrack to Sheepshead Bay to watch the races was because he needed spice in his life. It had nothing to do with the fact that he dreamed of running his tongue over Race's lithe little body and threading his fingers into his dark hair. It had nothing to do with that. Not that he'd try anything. He was exhausted.

Tiredly, he rested his body on a bench, trying to get some sleep. No dice. Everyone around him was screaming and even with his eyes closed he could feel the disapproving stares from the "dignified" people in the upper tiers.

"Isn't this great, Skits?" Race's voice made him open his eyes.

"Great," he lied, forcing a smile on his face.

Trying something new was not a good idea…

Afterward, they were walking back. It was a _long_ way back what with the trolley strike still going on.

"So did you like that?" Race let out a whoosh of air.

Skittery couldn't believe how much his face had transformed at the racetrack. How his eyes were alight with joy as he screamed for the horse of his choice. It was almost like a magic spell and once they left the magic downs, he went back to being the Racetrack that he knew and—secretly—loved.

"Yeah," he lied again, the hollow words coming easily to him as they did with most newsboys.

Racetrack smirked at him. "No you didn't. You were asleep Skits."

Skittery smiled a little himself through the exhaustion. "You got me. I hated it."

"Well at least you came," he stared up at the slowly blackening sky. Skittery couldn't tell if it was black from the ever pressing night or the excess of coal in the air. "No one comes with me."

"I thought you liked it like that…"

Race lowered his head but only a little so he could stare his taller companion in the eyes.

"No one wants to be alone," he said, voice catching.

It was only for a moment but it was the closest Skittery—or anyone for that matter—had seen Race in any close way, shape or form to crying. Then it was gone and he was smiling again.

"Come on, Skits. I wanna hurry back. Jack said somethin' 'bout us all goin' to Tibby's and I don't wanna miss that."

Skittery started to follow him but paused, knowing that it was now or never.

"Hey, Race," he called. "C'mere for a minute."

"What?" he suddenly looked irritable. "I thought you was tired. I mean, if we walk then you can sleep…in a bed."

"I can sleep later," Skittery shook his head. "C'mere."

Race walked over to him. "What?"

Skittery used his finger to tilt his head up and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Right in the middle of the street, just a mere hundred yards from the downs.

"Now you're not alone," he said, immediately feeling kind of stupid for not saying something better.

Racetrack's lips twisted into a smile. "Tibby's can wait."


	5. And You Smile

"We still have this?" David chuckled and lifted the jumble of wood and string. "I thought mama threw it out the window because it scared her."

Sarah watched him illuminated by the slanting evening light, rooting through the old steamer trunk of their childhood belongings. In the fifteen—and a half as he never failed to remind her—years of his existence, she found that she had never looked at him. As in, _really_ looked at him. How his chin had a cleft or how his hair was lit up to a gorgeous chestnut by the sun or the sheer luminosity of his blue eyes.

Now she watched him untangle his old marionette, upper teeth slowly kneading his lower lip as he did so. Finding his efforts to no avail, he tossed it back in and went for something else.

"Oh, wow," he breathed. "I have to show Jack _this_."

He held up a stuffed rabbit missing an ear and a half tauntingly, dangling the dusty mound of beige fur in front of Sarah's face.

"Stop it," she giggled, swatting it away. "And if you show that to Jack, I'll kill you."

David raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!" Sarah lunged for the rabbit but David was quicker.

He jumped up onto her bed, bouncing up and down a few times, holding the bunny mockingly over his head in a way that said 'ha, ha, can't catch me!'

Sarah jumped up but slipped on the hem of her skirt, grabbing onto David's legs so she wouldn't fall. He buckled forward and they fell onto the floor. The bunny was pinned between them and the dusty smell made them both sneeze on each other.

"Ew!" they squealed at the same time.

Then Sarah reached up and kissed him.

"Ew!" David repeated. "What'd you do that for? Do you know how wrong that was? I mean, did it mean anything? I mean—"

"David," Sarah said tiredly. "Just shut up for once in your life."

--

And that was how it happened. It had only been once. They hid from each other from then on, which was a mighty feat seeing as they shared a room. David went out early, came home late, never made eye contact, skipped dinner. Their parents were worried about him but Sarah knew what the problem was and that she was the cause. She was the bunny he was the marionette and she jumbled up his entire way of thinking and she knew that David hated her for that. She hated _herself_ for that.

"David," she said one night. "I'm sorry."

She had stayed up late—late as in _late_—to relay the message upon his return. He blinked from the doorway. Then he turned away from her and glanced up, the edges of his mouth curling up in a fair approximation of a smile.

"Yeah," he said to the beams above. "I'm sorry too."

--

**A/N: **Yeah, ewwww, _Flowers in the Attic-_ness, right? Well I said that these were _odd_ couples didn't I?


	6. Losers Weepers

Mush and Blink walked down the streets at night. It was a stupid thing to do, what with all the members of the seedy underbelly but it was nice. It was nice to not have to hide and hold hands and walk together like a proper couple. It was foggy that night. Mixed with the pollution, it was almost a green color. Like magic fog. Mush felt like someone in a fairytale as he and Blink walked through the fog. A little kitten trotted up behind them. Blink let go of his hand and went to his knees, touching the cat's throat. Mush could almost feel the purr without having to touch the cat. But, still, in the midst of the magic, he felt devastated. Crushed and beaten and like his heart was being cracked. Blink could kneel before the cat and treat it like a baby. He could hold Mush's hand in the dark and kiss him but it wouldn't take back what he had just said.

"I still can't…" Mush stared down at the cat who scampered away. He followed it with his gaze and bit his lip. "Why, Kid?"

Blink rose to his feet and rubbed his shoulders for him how he knew Mush liked. He refused to meet his gaze.

"'Cause Mush. There ain't nothin' here for me in New York no more," he said. "I'm goin' to California. Goin' to get out there. See stuff."

Mush blinked the tears away. He couldn't stay and hear that. How Blink sprang his trip on him, not even inviting him along. He turned and ran away from him. He needed to get back to the lodging house. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find that Blink would smile his captivating smile and go 'gotcha' and then things would be fine. He needed to find a bed. Then things would be better.

He walked in to find, not surprisingly, everyone asleep. He looked for an empty bed. Nowadays, there was no setting for who got what. It was first come, first get. The only thing was that Jack got a top bunk. No matter what.

Mush paused his search momentarily. Moonlight, all foggy from the magic fog, illuminated one bed. It was already occupied…and then some. A bunch of little kids were curled around Skittery who lay among them. Mush smiled a little. Something about the usual grump all Bo Peep-ing with the little kids brought a smile to his face. Then a little face popped up.

"Mush?" Tumbler blinked his eyes. "Whachu doin' up?"

Before he could answer, it was like clockwork, Skittery rose.

"Tumb," he yawned. "Go back t' bed."

Then he noticed Mush. He extricated himself from the children and looked at him. There was something about the way Skittery looked at people. He didn't beat around the bush with sideways glances or shielded glares. He stared intently at someone, baldly and unblinking.

"What's wrong?" he asked, finally. Tumbler had curled back for bed, head resting on the rump of another little kid. Skittery was idly stroking his hair. "Something's wrong."

"Blink's leavin'," Mush mumbled. "Fer California."

Skittery rose and pat his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know you guys was best friends."

He had no idea. Mush just nodded numbly and felt tears well up in his eyes. Skittery placed an arm around him. He seemed different in the night, more soothing and calm. Like being around the little kids was soothing him. Skittery would make a good parent, Mush decided. The only time he had seen him smile was when he'd help the little kids. Herding them along, making sure they dressed as warmly as they could, making sure they got something to eat. Mush felt himself wanting one of those smiles. Those rare, Skittery smiles.

"Yeah," Mush sniffed. "I just…he's…"

"More," he replied bluntly, quirking a brow.

He nodded. "Yeah. More."

"Mush," his voice sounded rough, almost. Like scratchy wool. It was an inviting sound though. Not like wool at all. At least not the scratchy kind. "If Blink didn't tell ya he was movin' to California when he was savin' money then youse deserve better than him."

Wise words. Mush rested his head on his shoulder. "I know Skits but…Blink'n'me, we had a good thing goin'."

"Not good enough for you, Mush," Skittery put an arm around him and it somehow conveyed so much sympathy that Mush felt himself start to cry again.

He tried wiping his tears away but Skittery caught one on the tip of his finger just before it curled off his cheek.

"But…it was good," he kept saying. "It was real good. Me'n'him…we was a team."

"Find a new partner?" Skittery suggested.

A moment ago, the thought would've made Mush laugh. Now he turned to Skittery in the gloom and looked up at him. He was smiling. At him. Smiling that smile he wanted so badly when he used it on Tumbler. He knew who he wanted his partner to be. Skittery kissed his temple lightly. Mush felt his face flush. He turned to face him and Skittery kissed him on the lips this time. It was different from Blink's kiss. It was like waves rising and falling. Like being in that magic fog and holding hands with someone who didn't lie about California. Like being in the ocean and feeling the water—blue, not gray-brown like the water in the Hudson—rocking you back and forth. It was storms and cats purring. And smiles. Always smiles.

**A/N:** I know people have requested Spottery but I had no inspiration for that and then this one hit me and I had to write it before I forgot it. So yeah, Spottery is coming. I didn't forget.


	7. This May Sound Pathetic

**A/N:** Since I couldn't think of a way for Dutchy and Spot to be even in the same general area together in canon, this one will be AU and modern. Why? Because it can be.

--

Tonight was prom. Senior prom. In true 80s-Duckie-minus-that-annoying-twit-Molly-Ringwald fashion, they were all going alone.

"Stop filming me!" Skittery complained, splashing beer from his bottle onto the lens of Snitch's ever-present camera.

Dutchy laughed. He knew that his friend was aggressively anti-prom and was only going because he was forced. Skittery's solution, as it seemed, to his prom problem was to get drunk. Very drunk. The others were probably going to get tanked that night as well although they'd at least wait until the after party at David's house. Speaking of David, the boy had yet to emerge from the bathroom where retching noises kept being emitted.

Dutchy felt like puking himself. He wanted to admit to the one boy he loved more than anything how he felt. However, said boy wouldn't show up until the after party since A: he didn't go to the school and B: although he was Jack's boyfriend (Jack being the only officially "out" senior at their school), Jack had stuck with their pact to go stag and refused to get a guest slip. So he had to wait. The thought alone was enough to send him into the bathroom to join David in a puking party.

"I said stop filming me!" Skittery repeated, splashing the lens again.

"Hey!" Snitch dropped to his knees and started wiping his precious camera with his discarded street clothes.

"Hay is for horses," Jack said dismissively. "Besides, you were only filming our feet and faces."

He jumped to his feet and stuck his tongue out. "It's a gritty documentary."

"It's a home movie!" he shot back.

Snitch glared and went back to shooting Skittery just to aggravate him.

"Stop it!" he demanded. "Stop filming me!"

"Film me!" Jake and Bumlets shouted in unison, mugging for the camera.

Dutchy shook his head in laughter. Race tapped the face of his watch.

"Hey guys," he reminded. "Time. Let's go."

They all started to bustle out as Jack tapped lightly on the door. "Davey, move it."

Everyone's answer was the sound of feet pounding followed by the wet, coughing sound of vomiting.

--

Dutchy dangled his feet into the chlorinated water of the Jacobs' pool. As he had predicted, everyone was sufficiently inebriated. Skittery especially since he had been drinking pretty much since three in the after noon. He, Bumlets and Snitch were apparently searching for an electric razor so they could give him a Mohawk. He predicted a sad, sad morning after.

The only two abstaining from drinking were himself and David who, once again, was puking in the bathroom. There were jokes of "morning sickness" floating around. He wasn't drinking because he wanted to be sober when he told Spot how he felt. However, that oath was getting harder to maintain as he watched him and Jack have a tongue-heavy reunion having not seen each other in three whole days.

Dutchy sighed and even contemplating getting a beer from Snitch's cooler but he refrained once he noticed something going on between Jack and Spot. As they broke apart, Jack whispered something into his ear. Spot listened for a couple minutes before punching him in the stomach.

"Asshole," he snapped before stomping away.

Jack was doubled over in pain but was trying to get him to stop. Without even thinking of what he was doing, Dutchy hoisted himself out of the water and followed him.

--

He found him angry and smoking at the edge of the lawn.

"Spot?"

He looked up angrily. His look read nothing but 'what the hell do you want?'

"Uh…what's wrong?"

He expected to be fed the 'none of your damn business' line but, to his surprise, Spot sighed and kicked a rock.

"Jacky-boy broke up with me, that's what's wrong," he leaned against a tree and blew smoke into the night. "Said that he and Jacobs had been fooling around behind my back for a month now. Guess I should've seen it coming. Jack never _could_ keep it in his pants."

Well, that certainly explained David's nervous regurgitation. He had to know of Jack's "coming clean" plan and didn't want his head beaten in.

Dutchy's mouth went dry. Admitting his feelings now would make him seem like an ass wanting him on the rebound. Now he wished he had gotten a drink.

He had to do something though. Spot stamped out his cigarette. Without thinking, Dutchy leaned forward and hugged him. To his surprise, Spot hugged him back.

--

**A/N:** Yeah…still not Spottery but keep your pants on. I still have no inspiration for it. But if you give me some, I'll love you forever. And a big thanks to Queen of Doom for the suggestion!


	8. You're a Sick Man

Jack folded his legs under him and smirked, exhaling smoke into the hot air.

"We should find better places for this," he remarked. "This place is cramped and a half."

He dodged his pants that were thrown at him with much malice. He ground his cigarette into the floor and laughed.

"You're a sick man, DeLancey," he said back. "How much do you enjoy picking on me in the morning? Get your kicks chasing me around the _World_ building? Love tackling me?"

He rubbed his neck. "Not that you don't do that enough in here…"

"That's enough, Cowboy," Oscar bit out, glaring at him from the other side of the small storage room.

"That's not what you said five minutes ago," Jack grinned maliciously.

He was having enough of Jack's snark. Oscar rose and advanced towards him. Jack held his hands up in mock defense.

"Ooh," he cooed. "Don't hurt me!"

"Keep talkin', Cowboy," he seethed through gritted teeth.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jack leaned back, splaying his legs. "You're just sick like that. Sick, sick sicko!"

Oscar growled and leapt for him, flattening Jack to the ground. Jack let his head drop back and he laughed almost maniacally at Oscar's attempts to defeat him.

"Are you finished?" he asked after a few minutes of thrashing.

"I said be quiet, Cowboy," he hissed.

"Thought so."

Jack reached up and yanked his head down so their mouths met. They rolled about best they could on the floor of the storage room, hitting the wall with almost every turn because—in Oscar's words—Jack's legs were too fucking long.

Once they were finished, Jack stretched languidly, sitting upright. He yawned and ruffled his hair before leaning his upper body against a wall for support and lazily closing his eyes.

"Like I said," he smirked. "You're a sick man, DeLancey."


	9. Empty Fist

**A/N: **Still no Spottery because still no inspiration. Sorry for those who are waiting on it. And, if you think about it, this couple isn't that odd. But I like it anyway.

--

David touched himself under the covers. Felt his hips jutting like animal skulls against his pearly skin, ran his hands up to where he could feel the outlines of his ribs. He rested his head tiredly on the bed. He was so tired lately. So tired and hungry. But he wouldn't eat. No, he wanted to be thin. Thin and pure like a glass cup. His body didn't allow him. It growled like a cat was under his skin, clawing to escape and yowling into the night.

He turned on his side to Jack, his lover. "Jack, I feel weak."

"Den eat somethin'," he said gruffly, not looking at him.

That was how it had been for weeks now. Jack had been distant, curt even while David just starved himself and watched the dark circles grow under his eyes.

"Jack," he mewled again.

Jack rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head. David sighed and rose from the bed. His legs felt weak, too weak to support his body. He felt like he was walking on two spider legs, too weak to keep him up. He staggered out the door.

--

"Youse need ta eat," the voice that sounded like leather and lace whispered into his ear, sending David into a wave of memory.

He was sitting on the Brooklyn Bridge, staring down at the water and feeling like he was about to throw up. But he didn't because he knew that nothing would come out.

He locked eyes with Spot, feeling that it was obvious that he felt that way.

"Heah," Spot pulled a hunk of bred out of his pocket, lint stuck to it.

David didn't realize how hungry he was. His stomach felt like an empty hand, making a fist to try and feel full when all that was in the fist were fingers. He took the bread and chewed it. His throat felt pinched. To his surprise, Spot placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright," he muttered gruffly.

David swallowed.

"Come on," Spot said, offering him a hand.

--

There was so much food on the table. David could hardly catch his breath. Spot grabbed a chicken leg and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Youse hafta eat," he commanded. "Chew."

When Spot Conlon told you to do something, you did it. David obediently chewed, not making any protests. His throat still felt pinched but he swallowed the chicken and the bread that followed.

Then there was no more eating. Just him and Spot on the table. All of Jack's distance over the weeks made him oblige readily to his advances. They rolled around on the chipped wood, tearing carnivorously at each other. Or, rather, Spot tore carnivorously at David.

Afterwards, David awoke sticky and full. His stomach quivered as he made his way to the floor. He stuck two fingers down his throat and vomited onto the wood.

"Don't," Spot commanded, rising. "Don't."

"I have to," he said in a gravelly voice he didn't recognize.

"No," he said adamantly. "Don't."

Spot pulled him close and kissed his forehead in a way that was very un-Spot that David may or may not have imagined.

"Don't."


	10. A Hazy Shade of Winter

**A/N: **Without any further, adieu, Spottery. As promised. Going a little differently with this one. AU as well. And in California. Why? I really have no clue…but it works

--

When Peter was a little boy, all he wanted was to find his special fairy. He would have dreams about a little pink-haired fairy tickling his ribs and kissing his cheeks. Every year, he would blow out the candles and wish for his fairy.

Then he only wished for his mother to get better.

But the wishes failed. Every pink car, every star and candle wish turned sour and his mother died in the hospital bed.

Immediately, his father began to date again. He brought women in hordes over to the house. They would coo over Peter, touching his hair and pinching his cheeks, asking him where he got his eyes.

"They're hers," he wanted to say. "And she's watching you. She wants you to leave."

But they didn't leave and Peter holed himself in his room when he was thirteen and never came out. His father asked him why he never dated. Peter didn't have the heart to tell him that he still wished for a pink-haired fairy with gauzy wings to come for him. His best friend Jack gave him a guitar for his birthday one year and Peter stood in front of the mirror, practicing. The guitar was painted like a Dalmatian, black and white spotted. He knew from the smears of paint on his face that the job had been done by Jack himself. He and his other friend David started calling him Spot. Peter-now-Spot still never left his room and stayed there practicing.

He didn't come out of his room until four years later when he, Jack, and David started Quad Purple.

--

Scott had never been noticed. He knew only that he was seventeen, nearing adulthood, and no one seemed to know that he was alive. His father worshipped his mother like a goddess, like an angel. He called her his angel. He often forgot that he had a child. When he was little, he was always fawned over and doted upon. His father would bring him to work just to show up off.

When he hit puberty, he was nonexistent. He would look at his mother and wonder how she garnered so much attention. But it was obvious. She was gorgeous. He often heard his father dote upon her and rhapsodize about her beauty.

Hair like a pale gold waterfall

Legs like a Barbie doll, long and perfect

Eyes so big and blue that it was hard telling them apart from the ocean

Lips so full and beautiful that they were ripe slices of fruit on her face

Pretty hard to compete with when you were gawky with faded brown hair. So he wanted a change.

Scott went to Mush for his new hair color. Mush was about his age although he seemed much older, more worldly. He wasn't sure if Mush was his real name but he swore blind that it was. He had dropped out of school at fourteen and traveled around the world. He wore pounds of his grandmother's old jewelry and was obviously gorgeous. Unfortunately, Mush was very easily distracted. He tended to go on rants about places he had seen on his travels and people had met while Scott prayed that he didn't cut his hair unevenly.

Today, he just wanted color added to his horrible brown hair. He told him jet. Dark hair to make him more…something. Just something other than boring old Scott Krumholtz.

"Sure thing, Skits," Mush chirped in a happy voice, whistling to himself.

Skits…short for Skittery, the name Mush had given him when he grew skittish every time he jabbed the air for emphasis during a story with the wickedly sharp scissors. Today, he got to work on his hair, singing loudly. Scott closed his eyes and pictured him with his new hair. Would people notice him? He imagined shades of Elvis with his darker locks. Not a bad comparison at all.

But when he opened his eyes, he was appalled. It was not jet-black but a garish shade of pink. Now he would definitely gain attention. Just not the kind he wanted.

"Oops," Mush sputtered. "Sorry sweetie. No charge, of course."

Horrified, Scott wandered to his car. What was he going to do?

He caught his reflection again in his car window and nearly retched. It was awful. But why not make the best of it? Sure, yeah…

Scott got into his car and drove to the Valley.

--

He found a club where a band was playing. It wasn't just some random Valley band but an actually good one. Surfers and scenesters meshed under the throbbing lights. Scott made his way past jiving bodies to the front. The band was only comprised of three boys about his age. A Polish boy was crouched behind the drums, his curls flopping up and down with each hit to the skins. His teeth clenched his lower lip as he banged the beat. The bassist was a tall boy with broad shoulders and a slender body, his long fingers plucking the chords expertly. He tossed his head and his hair flew with him. A red bandana was about his throat.

But then he saw the guitarist. He was singing soulfully into the mic, a guitar-heavy remake of a Simon and Garfunkel song.

"Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time in a tapestry…"

His eyes were the most captivating things Scott had ever seen. Opium eyes, intoxicating. He needed him to see him.

--

Spot found the boy he had seen in the audience after the show. The boy with the pink hair and the tall frame.

He brought him back to where the band hung out.

"You guys were good," he said.

"Good?" Jack scoffed. "We owned. We went out there and kicked ass!"

He pumped his fist in the air for emphasis and put his arm around the pale-faced drummer's slim shoulders.

"Right, Davey?"

Spot rolled his eyes and took the boy in. His hair was pink. He remembered the fairy from his childhood. He extended a hand.

"Come on."

--

Later, when Spot was ripping his clothes off, Scott tried to remember the whys and whenceforths of their meeting or why he was in a bedroom with a boy he barely knew but it just seemed to fade away. Nothing else made sense in the world except that this was supposed to happen.

And he had Mush's flighty ways to thank for it.

--

**A/N: **Whoo, finally. Thanks SakiSaki and stress for this idea.


	11. Drum Love

**A/N: **A little AU fic because I can't see how this could work out in canon

--

Skittery sat alone in the shed, banging on the drumset that dwarfed his tiny frame. The sticks were longer than his little arms as he pounded away. He put on his favorite tapes and banged out melodies. His audience was a row of pictures of his friend called Specs. He loved Specs and his big brown eyes and his wide mouth. He didn't know, then, that it was considered strange for two boys to be in love with each other. He just knew that it was love and that no love could be wrong.

So he kept playing his drums in the tool shed behind the apartment building where everyone lived. The apartment with Bryan and his adopted son, Jack. And David and Sarah with their parents. And Specs with his dad and Dutchy with his moms. Everyone talked to everyone and it was like a big family. Except Skittery felt like he never belonged.

One day, Skittery was banging on his drums, tapping out a rhythm, when the shed door creaked open.

"Wow, you're really good. Can you teach me?"

Specs himself had walked into the shed, blinking his big eyes behind his glasses and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his twill shorts. He rocked back and forth on his bare feet. Skittery gnawed the end of his drumstick. He had never played for an actual person before, let alone had to teach one. He would just play for the cobwebs and rusty rakes and pictures of Specs and now Specs himself.

"How'd you learn to play?" he asked, stepping into the gloom of the shed.

Skittery shrugged. "I put on songs and marked the beat. It kinda soothes me. I don't need to pull David's sister's hair or chew on Jack's G.I. Joe's if I play them."

Specs nodded. "Yeah…but will you teach me?"

Skittery nodded.

For days, the boys toiled in the shed. Specs wasn't very good but Skittery liked watching him play; the way he'd bang on the skins and bite his lip and flop his floppy brown hair.

One day, he suggested that they put on a tape of Skittery playing.

"So I can pretend that I'm good," Specs explained.

He air drummed, not even coming in contact with the skins. That was when the door opened. Skittery turned to see blondie boy Dutchy. He was barefoot like them and giggling into his palm.

Specs stopped fake playing the drums. He turned the boom box off and smiled at Dutchy. Skittery looked from one to the other.

"Silly," Dutchy held his hand out. "You didn't have to learn to play drums. I just wanted to see if you'd do anything to be my best friend."

Specs took his hand and the two walked away, leaving Skittery in a dark tool shed with an empty drum set and torn cobwebs. He slammed the door as they left and let himself be bathed in darkness. Then he snapped his drumsticks in half and kicked in the skins of his drum set, completely ruining it.

For a while, Skittery sat in the dark, curled up like an armadillo and ruminating in his distress. Then the door opened again. Jack stood in the doorway wearing a pair of Batman swim trunks and holding a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle doll in his hand.

"Hey Skits, whacha doing here?" he asked.

He didn't answer, just became more like an armadillo. Jack closed the door and left.

Later, Skittery emerged to find the big almost-family at the pool, splashing about. He saw Specs and Dutchy running around on the grass playing a kind of catch me if you can game.

"Goodness," one of Dutchy's moms, Victoria, said. "How can they be this in love?"

Lydia, his other mom, kissed her cheek. "I think I would have acted the same way if I had met you at their age."

Like Skittery, no one questioned love of any sort in their almost-family.

"Strange," Bryan said. "I always thought that _Skittery_ loved Specs."

Skittery watched the fun, feeling left out. His father was there, probably wondering where his son had gone. A sticky hand tapped on his shoulder.

"You want some?"

Skittery turned to see Jack, grinning cheekily and holding up a slice of watermelon. Juice was smeared all over his face and a black seed stuck to his cheek.

"Sure," Skittery said quietly, taking some of the piece.

The piece was about a fourth of the melon and Jack had barely dented it. They sat on the half-dead grass and took turns taking bites out of it.

"I'm sorry," Jack said after a little while.

He couldn't imagine Jack having anything to be sorry for.

"How come?" Skittery tried to speak through the watermelon.

"'Cause I never gotta hear you play them drums before you smashed them. David said he heard you once when his dad took him out here for swimming lessons. And that you were hell of cool."

"I am?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. That's why I came out here today so I could hear you but you had squished your drums."

Skittery shifted under the weight of the watermelon. Jack giggled at him.

"You look silly with all that pink on you," he said.

He should really have spoken for himself on that one. Juice had dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, leaving a little pink mark down to the waistband of his swim shorts.

"Thanks," was what he said and Jack giggled again.

--

Years later, the apartment was still home to the almost-family. Dutchy and Specs were considered the perfect couple. Everywhere they went, they held hands, even at school where their love wasn't as readily accepted.

Skittery never touched his drums again, never had them repaired. But he spent his time with Jack who made him stop hair-pulling and doll-chewing as much as the drums had when he was little. Until, one day, Jack disappeared. Skittery looked all over the apartment building but he couldn't find him. He asked David but he hadn't seen him. He asked Bryan who hadn't seen him either. For two days, no one had heard from Jack. Bryan wanted to call the police but he was afraid he'd get taken away from him.

That was when Skittery tried the shed.

Sure enough, Jack was in there.

"Jack!" he said, startled. "Everyone's been looking for you. Bryan wanted to call the cops."

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Skits, but I had to finish."

"Finish?"

Jack stepped aside. "Ta-da!"

Skittery's old drum set that he hadn't touched since he was five—ten years ago—stood erect and fixed. All the skins had been replaced and Jack was twirling new drumsticks around on his long fingers. He handed them to him.

"You never played for me."

Skittery sat behind the set, now too tall to have to stand and play. He nibbled on the end, not sure if he remembered how. But the second the tip came in contact with the little snare, he felt the beat. He made it pulse as he played for Jack who stared at him baldly, though riveted. When he finished, he couldn't help it, he rose and threw his arms around Jack. Then, remembering himself, he pulled back.

"Thanks."

"David was right," Jack said. "You are a hell of cool drummer."

Jack then put his hands on Skittery's shoulders and kissed him lightly. He tasted like watermelon gum and it reminded him of the day they spent on the grass with the huge slice of the fruit.

"And you're a hell of good kisser too," he said with a smile.


	12. Yugioh Dorks and Pokemon Innuendos

**A/N: **I originally planned for this story to be Spittery but that pairing isn't odd.

--

"Go talk to him," Jack sneered. "I bet he likes you."

Oscar cocked a brow at his one and only friend although the term _friend_ was used rather loosely. He knew that Jack wouldn't hesitate to toss him under the bus. Therefore, he knew not to trust him when he mentioned the supposed homosexuality of the "geek" Oscar had unwittingly developed a crush on.

"How do you know?" he asked gruffly. "You screw around with him?"

He kicked him. "I just know. He's a Yu-Gi-Oh dork isn't he? They can't get girls so why not a guy?"

Jack's logic was astounding.

"Not like I like him," Oscar stated. "He's wearing a Pokémon t-shirt for Christ's sake."

"Maybe it's for an ironic statement."

"And playing Yu-Gi-Oh. My stock would fucking plummet."

It was Jack's turn to cock a brow. "What stock? I'm the only person brave enough to talk to you. They call you Bender for shit's sake, Os."

Oscar waved his hand. "Whatever. I don't know why you think I have a crush on him. He's a fucking Yu-Gi-Oh dork, he's wearing glasses and…"

"He's a cute Yu-Gi-Oh dork," Jack pointed out. "Wow…and I thought that was an oxymoron. But seriously, look at him."

Yes, the boy whose name no one knew and thus merely referred to as Specs _was_ the cutest of the Yu-Gi-Oh dorks although that was hardly saying much. The rest looked like they had crawled out from under a bridge to try and eat wayward goats crossing over. Still, it wasn't like Oscar really liked him. Or, rather, he wasn't going to tell _Jack_ that he really liked him.

"Just go up there," Jack continued. "Maybe it'll just freak him out. Say some stupid pick-up line like…you cast a level five charm spell on my heart."

"No quoting _Wet Hot American Summer_, Jack," Oscar reminded. "I thought your stepmom banned you from watching it."

Jack waved his hand and continued. "Or how about…wanna see the _real_ Blue-eyes White Dragon?"

"My eyes are brown, dipshit."

"You're stalling," he bit his lip. "How about…damn, that's all I know about Yu-Gi-Oh. Okay, he's wearing a Pokémon shirt, right?"

Oscar, too pissed off at this point to even formulate words, settled on kicking Jack in the shin. He ignored it and continued with his horrible pick-up lines.

"How about…your Pikachu sent a shock to my system?"

"That's the stupidest one yet," Oscar seethed. "Jack, will you shut up if I do it?"

"Oh, sure."

Rising to his feet, Oscar plodded over there in his too big combat boots. He leaned over Specs as he played a heated match with some kid with a mullet. He stole a glance back at Jack who was looking at him with a smirky look on his face. Jack…the jackass. He'd show him.

He put a hand on Specs's shoulder so he'd turn to face him, compromising his precious game.

"Hey," he said, smirking. "You just made my Ekans evolve into an Arbok."


	13. And You See Your Gypsy

**A/N: **"Back to the gypsy that I was." Gotta love Fleetwood Mac and their crazy inspiration. So this hit me and wouldn't be ignored. And I really wanted to use gypsy!Snitch again.

_Also:_ This was original a freestanding story. I decided that it was short so just to include it in the compilation.

--

Snitch was in love with Jack. There was no denying it. He was fully, full-on in love with Jack Kelly. How could anyone not be? Jack was blatantly gorgeous with his eyes like melted chocolate and his hair like dark sunshine. His features were carved from marble like those statues Snitch had seen in old books in Denton's apartment. He was everything he could want.

But it wasn't like Jack couldn't love him. It wasn't like he was a skirt-chaser like the other boys. No, he was a boy-lover but Snitch wasn't the boy he loved. After years of pining after Jack, he had gone nowhere and lost him to dark curls and a pair of blue eyes.

Snitch couldn't be in the lodging house anymore, not with Jack with David. Not when his heart had been broken into so many pieces. He needed to escape. So he left.

--

The street was rain-soaked and glittered like dimes in the street. Snitch shivered. How could he be so cold? The coldness had seeped into his very bones. His stomach rumbled and paced impatiently like a cat. He regretted leaving the lodging house. Where was he to go? He was a street thief and that was his only talent. There was no way that he could make a living just out of stealing.

Snitch remembered his family and their dancing, mesmerizing the crowd before lynchers killed them. He remembered the hypnotic dance his sister Ezzie was able to bring upon men with her hips. That was when Snitch got a stroke of brilliance.

--

"Look at her."

"She's gorgeous."

"What's with the scarf around her neck?"

"Where are her breasts?"

"Still, wow."

Snitch smiled inwardly. So he was pretending to be a woman. So the men thought that he had just hacked his curls short. So what? They were paying a lot of money to watch him.

Dancing came easily to him. It wasn't the stuff of ballerinas or even Vaudeville girls. He licked his lips, kicked his legs, fondled his imaginary breasts, ran his hands up his thighs and removed wisps and slips of clothing while intoxicating flute music played.

The men stayed and watched him and afterwards, some would take him and they'd roll around on the floor. Snitch loved touching their taut bodies and kissed their necks. Then they tried to removed his skirt and all he got were slaps and cries of 'FREAK.'

But one night was different. One night, he spotted someone in the audience gathered around him that made him pause.

Jack. Jack was there, smiling at him. Devoid of David. Snitch tried to ignore him, tried to dance but it was no use.

--

"Snitch," Jack called to him. "Nice getup."

He turned around. "How'd you know it's me?"

He smirked and shook his head. "I ain't blind, Snitchy. I would know those teeth anywhere."

Then Jack surprised him. He grabbed him and pressed his lips against his.

"So my little gypsy boy," he smirked. "Take me to your caravan."

Snitch flicked his skirt and ran his hands over his exposed midriff, smiling.

"Gladly."


End file.
